thankfulness
The yellow finches appeared as bouncing colorful orbs seeking the fresh seed that filled the feeders just a few yards away from the deck. Although hot and humid, the extreme heat was sheltered high above the scattered clouds that moved slowly with the breeze traveling from west to east. The hearty cows about which we were to be learning were grazing steadily on the dark green vegetation that proves to be among the source for the nutrient rich beef. As refreshments were being prepared for the soon to arrive entrepreneurs, this aging and somewhat resigned host to PD engaged full-heartedly in games with his three and four-year-old granddaughters. Giggles, screams, and uncontrollable outbursts of laughter permeated our presence as we cherished these moments of sheer joy. The “joy” is in the ability to engage with the precious girls as they are, where they are and, in the process, imprint a memory of fun time with “Popi”. Soon the hosted group arrived and the opportunity to learn about turning land resources in one of the geographically healthiest regions in the Eastern US into an environmentally and nutritionally healthy product that promises to be self-sustaining got underway. As part of the learning experience, the group got the opportunity to meet the nutrient rich contributors to Middle Border Beef, that give back more to the environment than they take. The experience reminded this PD participant that there are still opportunities for positive change and life enhancements that can flourish with our grateful attention to them. Another window opened to the fresh air of thankfulness in which the richness of opportunity for renewal came flowing through.
The graveled driveway almost glistens as the bright sun shines down on it. The recently mowed grass embracing its length gives a highlight and a look of distinction to the drive leading from the highway to the houses and sheds. In the distance a shadow of dark clouds casts an ominous warning of a possible storm, wind, and rain that may be heading this way. Rather than fret over what may come our way, this possessor of Parkinson’s Disease and its manifest symptoms under moderate control, looks gratefully out upon the bright shining deck and the plants and flowers growing thereon. Captured in the glow of the bright sunshine are the roaming chickens, grazing goats, and fine ripples in the pond as fish nibble at a morsel dropped by a bird flying by. Around the corner, a hungry and determined raven pounds soundly and directly onto a pecan it discovered near the giant tree. The shell of the nut is no match for the strength and stamina of the Raven’s beak as the bird gobbles down the meat of the nut before flying off to its next challenge. Gratitude fills this heart as the vision of beauty and the wonder of nature are manifest even in the shadow of a looming storm. The prognostication for PD is a slow progression of symptoms to a near state of dysfunction, which may lead to any number of secondary challenges. Nearly each of the potential effects has found its way to this walker’s path and has confronted him with the challenge customarily brought. For the weeks, days, and hours lived in the freedom from the dark clouds of this disease, we give thanks and cherish those times with a hefty dose of gratitude. It appears that gratitude is the best medicine to treat the source and symptoms of an otherwise cloudy experience!
After having “made friends” with some of the untoward side effects of this disease known as Parkinson’s, (or so I thought) I have discovered that there are still challenges that rumble around the edges of irrationality and require a more conscious effort to “put in its place” than I had been exerting. The belief that a night of seven to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep was within the realm of possibility has been dashed after several years of “now you sleep and now you don’t”. This morning, after responding to nature’s call, I grunted my way back under the covers to find a resting place. An itch on my back required a scratch. Then, a pressure point pain in my hip required an adjustment. And then, my mind went on its obsessive task of reconstructing the roof of the lean-to shed attached to the old tobacco barn that has slowly been giving way, but nearly collapsed with the last snow fall. Rationality came to visit as I told myself there would be no way to resolve that issue at this time in the middle of the night. This dopamine deprived brain of mine would not embrace the rational thought. I recalled those for whom I had been offering prayers for their healing and or comfort and began prayerful thoughts. The barn shed popped up in my mind again as though a gladiator had returned with sword in hand, flinging the picture of the bent roof directly in my face, shouting “take that”. With a sigh of resignation, I pulled the covers back, slipped on my pajama bottom and my slippers and found my glasses placed gently on the side table just a few hours before. The light from the full moon of that evening was shining through the translucent blinds, so I did not need to flip the switch for full lighting that I feared would lift me to a height of full awareness. After a short journey to the den and securing a comfortable position in the recliner, the handy electronic device used as calendar, telephone, alarm clock, Biblical reference, internet search vehicle was unlocked with my thumbprint and I zoomed into the wonderland of messages and information. A few hours later, I woke to the light of a rising sun, the blank screen of the hand held device and a sense of gratitude for having gained a few more hours of sleep. With a freshly brewed cup of coffee in hand and the day’s designated reading and calendar before me, I gave thanks for the time of deep sleep that had renewed my awareness and energy level, if even slightly. Expressing gratitude for having access to mind numbing distractions from one of the several reconstructive projects, brought with it a sense of peace from which the day’s agenda could emerge. A grateful mind is the engine that propels a thriving heart!
Bright and crisp was the sun that shone after several days of cold and often freezing rain. I gathered my keys, my cell phone and my wallet as I headed toward the slightly muddied truck for a short run to secure some groceries for the next few meals. The cows were chomping away at the newly sprouted grass and early clover as I drove the pot hole spotted driveway toward the once quiet country road from the family farm to the bustling city. The cows seemed to glow in the bright sunshine with which we were being blessed. I turned onto the well maintained and sturdy country road toward my city destination. A bright shine in the distance by the edge of the road caught my attention. As I got closer, the black garbage bag overflowing with pinkish substances became more evident. Then, I saw the Styrofoam cup, and a few feet away two soda cans on the right side of the road. A short distance further my eyes were met with more strewn cups of Styrofoam, translucent plastic and what looked like a bed cushion soaking up the abundance of water left by the multiple days of rain that came before. Now my attention had been drawn from the blessing of the bright sunshine illuminating the fields and woods along the roadway to the plethora of cast away cups, cans, and plastic bags lining the sides of the road. It seemed the distractors were strewn every twenty to thirty feet, on ether side of the road. I remembered that in late Autumn, “road crews” were busy along the side of the road collecting trash and garbage that had been strewn haphazardly during the summer as well. Now having seen the accumulation of discarded objects along the way, I found it harder to refocus my attention upon the blessing of the bright sunshine. PD has a way of sneaking its “trash” in the form of stiffness and rigidity in the way of an otherwise routine, but painless day. Likewise, I find it necessary to re-focus my thoughts on the temporary increase in dosage of dopamine assistance to help “clean up” the distraction of movement from the otherwise bright and cheerful day. Both the clutter of symptoms and the collection of rudely discarded cast away objects requires an intentional focus to maneuver past. With whispers of gratitude and the faith to move beyond the bits of a cluttered day the bright light of sunshine illuminates another thanks filled morning!
Frost is glistening on the grassy meadow as the ravens caw away at their morning ritual. The house is warm as the furnace blows the heated air from the vents. This day, dubbed Christmas hundreds of years ago has turned its eye upon us here in the southeast, prompting multitudes of celebrations from household to household. Some are flinging wrapping paper, others are testing out new bikes in the driveway, while some others are watching in wonder at how the families have grown. The so called “social” media has borne witness to others who complain of losses and the burdens of what has been and what is yet to come (sorrowfully). As this reluctant host to the ailment dubbed Parkinson’s Disease ponders his being, he can’t help but begin to unwrap the gifts, blessings, and or opportunities for giving thanks that flood his dopa-deprived mind! The blessing of family nearby that shares the victories of challenges nearly every day. The comfort of an engulfing and worn recliner whose seat renders reflection of the one to whom its embrace has molded. A warm and constantly shedding canine who has no clue that she is over seventy pounds as she climbs sometimes not so gracefully into the lap of one that she treats as part of her pack. The buzzing sounds of sleeping family for whose presence we are constantly raising praise. As each layer of the blessing for which we are grateful is gently uncovered, we are lifted to a higher place than the challenge of physical “limits” has gripped. Grace (unmerited favor) has been bountiful and its wonder is experienced in its truest form as we lift thanks to the One who is the giver and the gift. Merry Christmas!
The foot and a half of snow brightens up the overcast sky as the temperature rises as predicted. Slush from the melting white covering fills the tire tracks along the driveway. Birds have nearly emptied their feeders and the chickens are scratching away in every patch of exposed earth. The newly acquired cattle are devouring the hay delivered just before the near blizzard. The white covering is slowly making its way down the slope of the roof as internal warmth penetrates through the old insulation to escape into the cold air above. Gracie steps precariously on the nearly ice-covered inches of snow as she seeks that otherwise perfect spot to deposit her well kept bladder and intestinal content. All seems well as this often-unwilling host to PD reflects upon the past few days in the warmth of his sturdy recliner. Just two days ago, attempting to run errands while in town, I pulled up to the gas pump at the discount store used often to replenish the tank. All looked clear except for a few white patches of well compacted snow. Switching off the engine and placing the keys in door holder, I opened the door and stepped out as my feet went flying forward toward the gas pump. Stunned and somewhat numb from the body slam against the floorboard, fear and anger began to raise their heads. As I sought a non-slippery spot to give my feet a grip, I slide deeper toward the pavement. Determined, a foot caught hold of a white snowy spot that had remained rough enough to sustain the feet of an old codger. Moaning and groaning, I managed to get myself to a standing position and proceeded to fill the truck tank with fuel, the intent of the stop in the beginning. Bruised and just a tiny bit sore from the slam against the floorboard of the truck, I finished off the tank holding at least a cup of anger at the ice trap into which I had just stepped and emerged. As I climbed back into the truck, being ever so careful not to step on ice, I sat taking deep breaths as I let the anger and fear pass and began the process of healing as I whispered words of thankfulness for that, as far as I could tell, nothing was broken, and my head had been spared a pounding with the fall. As gratitude filled the space between my ears and the depths of the heart still pounding in my chest, I drove away counting the multitude of blessings for which I was reminded to be thankful. Even the most challenging of experiences offer opportunities to recall the gratitude that fuels a thriving heart!
The frosted fields glisten in the morning sun as the new day arrives. The small herd of cattle grazes ravenously on the whitened grass covering their now familiar abode. Prognosticators proclaim that a coming storm will cover the landscape and highways with multiple inches of snow and a potential mixture of ice. Sitting in the well heated den gazing across the sun lighted fields seems a long cry from the forecasted storm. Past experience heightens the awareness of this PD hosting old codger who has made his list and is checking it twice, regardless of niceties so as to be as prepared as possible for the stormy weather arrival. Likewise, past experience heightens awareness of the potential for slower and shaky movements as anxiety rises over challenges to come. Reminding myself that “fortune telling” is not a spiritual gift, I settle down to a place in my thoughts that taps into the generous well of gratitude and then begin to dip out cups of thankfulness. As this now thankful trustor in the One who provides the substance and meaning of the well from which we draw, contemplates the day at hand, I do so with a mind heightened with optimism and a heart lifted in anticipation of thriving moments! This is truly the day that the Creator has made, and we will rejoice and be glad in every aspect of it!
Another day of blowing rain and supersaturated soil play unwitting hosts to this less than agile possessor of Parkinson’s symptoms who has ventured out only once, of necessity this day. Tucked cozily away in the warmth of the den, surrounded by all the perceived necessary electronic paraphernalia along with countless books at easy access, this antsy, elderly, alternatively abled fellow reclines with computer in his lap, ready to see what others may be engaging on this cold and rainy day. Looking out briefly to the fields and trees surrounding the old farm house, I catch a glimpse of those sharp brown crested eyes looking so intently toward me. Having made eye contact, I speak gently to the now four-year-old Golden Retriever named Gracie who shares this living space in a way reflecting her name. She moves closer and puts her chin on the arm of my recliner as she continues her desiring stare. Knowing her habits and her frequent desire for the closeness of humans in her home, I gently put the computer away and out of my lap as she then proceeds to a place directly in front of me. A slight tap on my leg and gently whisper “okay” and the 72-pound bundle of warm golden fur gently puts her front paws in my lap. With arms stretched out I gently grab her hind legs and hoist her to her favorite position in the middle of my lap. Her approval is expressed with a gently groan as though saying “now this is the place I call home”! One hand rubs her head, ears and neck as the other gently rubs her back as her warm body engulfs my lap. These moments of her weight on my legs and warmth penetrating them often bring soothing relief to what has been called “off” moments of Parkinson’s. As we sit comfortably embracing our time together and look out of the windows at the glistening fields and the leaves being blown from the old Pecan tree, thoughts and feelings of gratitude well up from within. I pause to thank my Creator for the warmth, the view, the comfort of this abode and the presence of that precious life He has “graced” me with these last four years. Gratitude then becomes the foundation upon which this seeker of fulfilling God’s will grows closer to understanding that life’s greatest blessings are often within our reach.
The torrent of rain and flashes of wind had passed, and we were left with the fortunate task of simply mowing the grass that had been amply watered. Florence had devastated sections of the coastal plain and flooded the sandhills of North Carolina and South Carolina and was then on her way to New England. This reluctant host to shakes and tremors that result from the disease called Parkinson’s had reacted to the weather in ways that exacerbated the already unwelcomed symptoms. Anxiety was invading this host and he was feeding it fears of trees falling, of devastating rains and flooding that would cause extensive damage that would need repair. This anxiety was building without its host’s conscious awareness. Determined to be productive, even in the face of physical challenges and liberal “fortune telling” (feeding anxiety with fears of future), the lawn mower was filled with fuel and mounted for a productive afternoon of grass cutting. After navigating the edges of the driveway, this eager septuagenarian turned to tackle the side of the county road. Anxiety built as fears of being rammed by a passing car or slipping too quickly into the ditch beside the road swept over me. Suddenly, I heard myself saying: “God, keep me safe on this road; watch for the car that may come my way.” What hit me then was not a vehicle or a fall into the ditch. It was a stark awareness that I had just approached the Creator of the universe and grantor of eternal grace as though He were my personal body guard and goffer. Had the mower not been so loud I might have been able to hear myself as I shouted, “forgive me.” My prayer then turned to expressions of gratitude for the eternal grace and mercy that has filled so much of my life. My request then became one for wisdom and good judgement. As the mower and I continued over tenuous paths, so did my thoughts continue focus on the multitude of things for which I am ever so thankful. I reminded myself that “fortune telling” (the substance of fear and anxiety) is not among the spiritual gifts we are promised. Grass is cut, shakes are chemically under control, and my heart and mind are again focused on gratitude for the grace and mercy that each of us is afforded by our loving God. May gratitude win the race against fear and anxiety!
Over a hundred acres surround the old farm house that my father and mother built about fifteen years after their purchase of the acreage at the time of what was termed the great depression. As a small child I roamed the fields, hills, and forest with bare feet and shorts, with no fear of predators. I remember my mother instructing me to stay in site of the house, but I interpreted to my own satisfaction any of the structures that may be occupied by tenants or sharecroppers to be “the house” to which the motherly instruction would apply. We had one milk cow, one horse, two mules, a hefty flock of chickens, one hog (most of the time) and lots of plows, wagons, and in later years a hefty tractor to harvest hay and give the mules a run for their money. All of those are long gone except for their memory in this aging possessor of PD. Returning to the farm after years away has been a blessing that has filled this heart with gratitude. Memories have been flowing back recently as we entertain and begin an action plan to revitalize the old farm as a host to a unique breed of beef cattle. The old pastureland has long ago decayed and slipped away to rust and rot, but new fences will soon go up as the new plan and lively stock begin to occupy the space of open fields and grasses. Children and grandchildren will have the opportunity to “tend” to the farm in ways never imagined by my parents and ancestors. The wisdom of choices will be afforded those of emerging generations and the heart and mind of this grandpa, once the child in awe of the farm, will continue to be filled with the peace of gratitude, the thanks for which may endure far beyond this memory!